


to find a home

by canonlytrans



Category: The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Slow Burn, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-04-22 08:39:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14304957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canonlytrans/pseuds/canonlytrans
Summary: When Lily Goode was offered the chance to come to Cordonia and vie for the prince's hand, she didn't expect to be set up and framed for being in an affair... nor did she expect to find herself staring at a positive pregnancy test, but here she is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> well, here it is - the first chapter of the fic i've been working on non stop for the past few weeks. i'm really excited to share this! it's basically my baby - 36k words and counting. i decided to post this today to celebrate both the finale of endless summer and the newest chapter of the royal romance.
> 
> please note that the first few chapters have a lot of canon dialogue, but that'll change soon!

Everything they'd worked for.

_The Prince will never be yours, and you will never be queen_.

Phones ringing, pictures of her and Tariq filling up every screen - him, reaching out to her, her in her underwear and facing away from the camera. ‘Prince humiliated by unfaithful suitor!’

And then, Bastien escorting her - and the rest of House Beaumont - out of the ballroom as Liam yells her name… and then picks Madeleine.

The past few hours seem to blur together, and Lily’s not sure how to react.

The airport is a lot colder than she'd expected. Her chair’s comfortable, but after everything she's been through, something about it feels so very wrong. She shouldn't be here. She should be at the palace. She should be embracing Liam… who should, should, should be her fiance. And yet, here she is.

There's pop music playing overhead, turned down low. It's a song she recognises, but it feels like an eternity since she last heard it. It makes her whole body burn, this very, very vague and so very far away song that she can’t put a name to. A part of it comforts her, though. There’s something nice about it… and yet, something so very bitter, too. The guards keeping an eye on her keep looking at their wrists. She tries to ignore them.

_Now boarding economy class for passengers of flight PB205 to New York City_.

That's me, she thinks, and almost breathes a sigh of relief.

She gets to her feet and grabs her backpack, saying a silent goodbye to the country she's come to call home.

Her hand reaches for her boarding pass.

“Wait! LILY!”

She turns, eyes widening at the sight of Maxwell and Bertrand coming her way. Her stomach lurches. She's not ready to be chastised, told she's made a huge mistake… one she didn't even make in the first place. She didn't lead Tariq on, she didn't invite him to her room! He could’ve hurt her and does anyone even give a shit?

(“It's all a _misunderstanding_! I didn't do _anything_!” she wants to scream, yell from the rooftops, as loud as she can.)

The guards get to them before she can even decide if she wants to see them.

Though, she has to admit, Maxwell's a bit of a welcoming sight.

“Hey!” says Maxwell, right as Bertrand practically bellows, “You will keep your hands to yourself! I am the Duke of _Ramsford_ , unhand me this instant!”

The guards step back, letting them through.

“That's better,” says Bertrand. He looks pissed. “Now if you'll excuse us, we have business.” As they leave, he turns to Lily, and she braces for the shouting to start.

“Did you come here to scold me?” she asks, voice weak.

Maxwell's eyes widen. “You really think I'd do that?”

“No, but…” But she's used to being yelled at. Not that she says that. Not to him. And Bertrand might, even if _he_ wouldn't. Not that she can admit any of that, especially not right now, especially not when Bertrand’s staring at her with this sort of unspoken rage written across his face.

“Just tell me,” says Bertrand. “Is it true? Are you carrying on an affair with Tariq?”

“No!” she cries, practically shouting. “Never!”

“Of course it's not true! This isn't Lily’s fault,” Maxwell says, and she's almost thankful for his defence. But Bertrand gives him a look and he shuts up immediately.

“I want to hear this from her,” he replies.

She bites her lip. “Of course I'm not!” she says, and she can feel her stomach twisting. Not when Liam is her shot at happiness, at true love, at having an actual life. Not when they've actually discussed marriage, having kids… not when it's all in her grasp, just a reach away.

“Then you were set up,” Bertrand says bluntly. “And I have no criticism of how you handled yourself.”

The pit in her stomach seems to fade away. She lets out the breath she hadn't realised she was holding, shoulders slumping. “Then what're you doing here?” she asks, still not sounding herself. To her ears, she sounds defeated. Tired. And maybe she is. Honestly, at this point, she doesn’t know - or care, really.

“We're here to take you back!” says Maxwell, almost cheerfully.

She stares at him for a few seconds, her fingers clasping the boarding pass. “ _What_?”

“We're going to fight this. No one ruins House Beaumont’s reputation,” says Bertrand, taking a step towards her. She almost flinches.

“But isn't it over?” she asks, stepping back, dazed. “Liam… he chose Madeleine. It's done.”

Bertrand gives a slight shake of his head. “ _King_ Liam chose Madeleine, but nothing's set in stone. There's still a chance. In some circumstances, the constitutional provisions allow the king to choose a different bride, for the good of the nation. It hasn't been invoked in a hundred years, but there is precedence.”

Just like that? It can't be that easy, she thinks. Nothing’s ever _that_ easy.

“The most important matter is that nefarious forces are plotting against you. We must resolve this scheme against you at once,” Bertrand finishes.

“You'd do that… for… _me_?”

In all honesty, she's shocked. Half sure she's dreaming or hallucinating or something. No part of this feels right. Not the fact that Bertrand wants to help her… but it’s probably just for House Beaumont, she knows that. She’s not stupid. She knows it’s just for House Beaumont. They’re not really here for _her_. They’re here for themselves. And yet, it’s… something about this makes her certain this is a bad dream and she’s going to wake up in the palace, or worse, on her mattress in her tiny, shitty apartment back in New York.

“ _None_ of this is your fault, Lady Lily. House Beaumont supports you unequivocally, and we will stand by you to the bitter end.”

“And the sweet end!” adds Maxwell, his eyes lighting up. The way he says it makes her feel a little better, but not by all that much - if anything, after the feeling fades, she feels even worse.

“Indeed. I'm optimistic that we will prevail. Though we do have our work cut out for us.”

Lily blinks. “ _What_ work?”

“We have to prepare you for the engagement tour,” says Maxwell, a bit excitedly.

“The… what?”

Bertrand butts in before Maxwell can explain. “The _only_ unfortunate thing about clearing your name and figuring out what happened is that we'll need to follow the royal court around… and they're currently gearing up for King Liam and Countess Madeleine’s royal engagement tour.”

“That's the _only_ unfortunate thing?” she says blankly. How’s that the _only_ unfortunate thing? They have to clear her name in the first place, shouldn’t THAT be unfortunate too? Or the fact that Hana’s leaving and she’s probably never going to see her best friend ever again? Or… well, any number of other things!

“It's going to be amazing! We're going _everywhere_! We'll be seeing the Eiffel Tower in Paris, the sea in Capri, the bamboo groves in China… it's going to be a lot of non-stop parties and fun!” Maxwell stops. “That is, if you ignore the whole Liam and Madeleine getting married thing. What do you say, Lily? Travel the world, clear your name, party with friends, and save Liam and the kingdom?”

“I…”

She pauses, just as the speaker announces _final call for economy class for passengers of flight PB205_. Home - that’s where flight PB205 offers to go. And she already has a pass. She can just go home, back to her shitty job and her shitty apartment and...

“I just want to go home to New York! I'm done with this!” Her hands grip the boarding pass tightly, and she moves to sling her backpack over her shoulders. “I'm done with these games. I just want to go back to my apartment and my friends and…”

“I know we're asking a lot of you,” Maxwell says, stepping towards her. He reaches to put a hand on her shoulder, and she doesn’t pull away.

“I…”

No. She can’t do this.

She can picture New York City right before her in all it’s beauty - the glistening skyscrapers, the sky reflecting off thousands of darkened windows, the huge metropolis sprawling out around her, bustling with activity. It’s nothing like Cordonia, nothing at all.

“But House Beaumont still needs you, and so does Cordonia,” Bertrand says firmly, drawing her back to the present.

“Besides,” adds Maxwell, “it wouldn't be much fun if it all ended here.”

She holds her breath for a split second. Everything in her screams to just go home, return to New York, where she fits right. Where there aren't these stupid games, dresses, unspoken rules… where everything's easier.

So much easier.

The music keeps playing in the distance. Some new song about going home with a guy. She doesn’t recognize it. And… “No, I guess it wouldn't,” she says softly, meeting Maxwell’s eyes.

“We'll set this right, Lily,” says Maxwell, and moves away from her, hand leaving her shoulder.

“The perpetrators will receive their comeuppance,” Bertrand adds, sounding as stuffy as usual.

That sounds like utter bullshit, she thinks.

“That sounds… like exactly what I need,” she replies.

“Splendid. Than shall we get to work? We have a lot to do before the engagement tour begins, and not a moment to lose.”

  


* * *

  


As they leave the airport behind them, Maxwell slings an arm around her shoulder. It's almost an unspoken ‘we couldn't forget you’, but with how quiet she is, she figures he doesn't want to disturb her.

And he's probably right. She needs the quiet right now. At least for a few more minutes. Part of her wishes he’d apologise for not getting there sooner. Part of her wishes she’d stayed in New York.

When they arrive at the Beaumont house, Lily throws her backpack to the ground and practically melts into the bed. It's just as comfy as she remembers, all fluffy white sheets and pillows. In the soft chandelier light, it's peaceful. She wants to fall into the bed and just sleep. Dream of something nice for once. Maybe she'll get some chocolate or some wine or something, try to relax.

Home sweet home. For now. It’s not New York, but it’s about as close to home as she’ll get for a very long time, if all goes as planned. Hell, she might never return to New York.

But there's a knocking on the door, and she opens it to find Bertrand standing there. He looks a bit lost, but then says, “Good. You've settled in. We should talk about the next few weeks. Because of the plot against you, the press is having a field day smearing your name. I'll figure out how to best spin the media circus, but you will have to ensure your future behaviour is impeccable.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Which means…?”

“There'll be no mistakes in your education. You're learning as much about courtly behaviour as you can before the tour kicks in. This time, you'll be prepared for anything. We'll begin training tomorrow. Get some sleep, Lady Lily. You need to be well rested.”

“Uh… okay?” she says, and he turns to leave. “Wait. Thank you, Bertrand.”

He actually smiles. “You're part of House Beaumont. We _won't_ let them ruin our reputation.”

She stifles a groan.

Once he's gone, she peels off her clothes and flops onto the bed, burying herself in the comforter.

This is all for House Beaumont. It’s not really for her.

It takes a few hours, spent mostly tossing and turning, staring up at the chandelier, her eyes tired. But she finally falls asleep, and she doesn’t dream. Not at all.

The next few days are a spinning blur of practice. Which forks go where, all the different Cordonian dances, wine tasting… and they've just barely started. She's sore all over, and _exhausted_. And nauseous beyond all hell. She’s probably just hungry. Or maybe dehydrated. She’s drunk way too much alcohol, isn’t there something to be said about drinking alcohol without drinking any water?

“Is it possible to die from dancing too much?” she groans, falling onto the sitting room couch for the shortest ten minute break in the universe. She could really go for some cherry cola right now… and some burgers… and maybe some fries, covered with melted cheese and bacon bits and chives and… Mmmmm. Literally anything sounds good right now, as long as it’s greasy and preferably incredibly salty.

Maxwell laughs, sliding onto the cushion next to her. “Of course not! Otherwise I’d probably be dead already.”

“Good point,” she says, slumping down. “If I die, bury me here. Just… not in that _damn_ blue dress. What was I _thinking_ when I bought it?”

“It’s not _that_ bad.”

Lily glares at him. “You try wearing it.”

“Maybe I will.”

The thought of Maxwell in a dress is enough to send her into a fit of giggles. She’s laughing so hard that it’s getting harder to breathe, and she slides down the couch, hitting the ground with a thump. Her stomach does a flip, and suddenly the nausea gets the better of her… and she throws up.

All over her favorite shirt.

“Lily! Are you okay? _Bertrand_!”

“Ugh,” she manages, getting to her feet and hurrying for the bathroom.

By the time Maxwell gets Bertrand’s attention, she’s sitting next to the toilet, lid open, leaning against the wall.

“My God. Are you alright?” asks Bertrand, cringing at the smell.

“I’m fine,” she says. “Just… lotta dancing. Guess I ate too much this morning. Or maybe the wine didn’t agree with me. Who knows?”

Maxwell nods. “I’ll go get you a change of clothes.”

“I’ll… let you rest. You deserve a short break,” says Bertrand, and they leave her alone to clean up and change.

  


* * *

  


After a particularly hard day of learning how to say hello in as many languages as they might encounter on the tour, Lily barricades herself in her room with some ice cream and cries for the next few hours.

She blames it on the fact that she’s watching _Titanic_. It’s a pretty sad movie, anyways. Not that it’s ever made her cry before, but she’s screaming at the television set and throwing balled up tissue at it when Rose doesn’t take Jack with her. “TWO PEOPLE CAN FIT!”

And then she starts breaking out, zits popping up all over her forehead and chin like she’s in ninth grade again. And when Lily wakes up with the worst headache of the century, and even more nausea, and cramps to rival her headache...

“Hey, Maxwell, you don’t _happen_ to have pads or tampons around here?”

Maxwell doesn’t even blink at that. “I’d have to check, but I’m sure there are some in the guest bedroom. Did you.... uh… actually, that’s not my... but if you need _anything…_ ”

“I don’t,” she says, then a thought rings in her head, and suddenly she realises she’s been craving chips for the past few hours. Specifically sour cream and onion, or bbq, or... “Wait, actually... I’d _kill_ for some chips. You guys don’t have any, d’you?”

“I’ll check,” he says, awfully brightly. Probably to get out of this conversation, she thinks. “Anything else?”

“I’m good. Thanks, Maxwell. You’re the best.”

When, a few hours later, her period still hasn’t started (and also she’s finished off a bag and a half of sour cream and onion chips), she starts to worry. She uses her phone to check the symptoms, and blanches at the results.

Because there’s no way she could be _pregnant_.

She hasn’t had sex since she dated Chelsea Brown, and _anyways_ , Chelsea didn’t have the right parts to possibly get her pregnant. And before that, Isaac from college… but that was a long time ago. Way too long ago for her to be pregnant _now_.

No, she thinks, it’s just stress. Stress is delaying my period. Stress is making me exhausted, giving me headaches, making me nauseous. That’s it. Because what else could be it?

  


* * *

  


“Can we go to the store?” she asks Maxwell.

He glances up at her. “Why?”

“I need some underwear,” she says, and the lie slides easily off her tongue. Probably because she’s been mentally practicing it for the past two and a half days. Besides, it’s not really a lie - she could use a new pair or two. There’s a hole in one of her pairs, and the others are starting to get all gross. She’s pretty sure she’s had them since her sophomore year in college.

“Uh… sure! I’ve been meaning to pick up some stuff anyways. There’s a nice boutique just in town.”

“I’d rather go to like… a Wal-Mart?”

“A… _what_?”

Right. Nobility. He probably has no idea what that is. “You know, like, a store that sells a bunch of shit. Clothes and food and stuff.”

“I’m kidding, Lily. I know what a Wal-Mart is. We just don’t have those here. I guess there’s always Neráida, it’s a Cordonian staple - I _think_ there’s one a few miles away. Does it _have_ to be a retail store?”

“Yeah, I’m just, you know, _used_ to retail stores.”

“ _Lily_! You could be the future queen! You need to shop at better stores!”

“Not today I don’t,” she grumbles. “Just take me to this Neráida place, please? I’ll… repay you. By not complaining about not having enough underwear? I could use some bras, too. Oh, and maybe -”

“Okay, okay, I’ll take you!”

“Thank you! I love you! You’re the best friend I could ask for!”

Maxwell nods. “Of course I am.”

“Narcissistic, much?”

“Hey, you said it first, Lily. I’m just agreeing with you. Lemme just… grab my shoes.” He wiggles his feet at her, and she groans, stepping away from him and grabbing her purse.

They hop in the car, and head into town. It’s a short drive. The countryside… the town that comes spilling out around them… It’s just as beautiful as Beaumont House, all vaguely Renaissance and wood and… well, like she’s just stepped back in time to a fairytale. Ivy grows over brown bricks, the grass is such a pretty shade of green, the road is a winding path of stone with yellow flowers poking through… everything’s _perfect_. Even the air smells nice, like bread and vanilla and freshly mowed grass, all bright and sweet.

“ _Wow_ ,” she says, peering out the window, rolling it down even further to breathe in the air.

“Ramsford’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Maxwell says.

She nods, silent. “It’s… _incredible_.” She watches the houses and shops roll by, stares out at the people walking around, taking in the late winter air. They’re bundled up with scarves and cute jackets and a few of them have kids, which sends a sharp pang straight through her, reminding her exactly why she’s here.

Finally, they pull up to a Wal-Mart sized store (except it looks nothing like a Wal-Mart, all stone and wood and it’s rather fitting), and Lily hops out, dawning a pair of sunglasses and fixing a scarf over her hair so she’s not recognizable. “We should probably… split up, y’know? I don’t wanna draw too much attention.”

“Good idea,” he says, grinning, and takes off.

She heads to the back of the store, passing people with carts filled with food or clothes, a couple pulling a desk off a shelf, looking for the contraceptive section. She looks for a few minutes - almost everything’s in Greek, so it’s kinda hard to read - and then pulls a pregnancy test off the shelf… and a second one, just in case. She pays in the back, adding a plastic bundle of underwear to the bag to hide what she really came here for.

If the test _is_ positive, then they’re gonna have a miracle on their hands.

She savors the ride back, looking out the window at the trees passing by in a blur.

When they reach the estate, Bertrand intercepts them, looking frantic. “ _Quickly_ , they’re officially announcing the tour on television!” He practically pulls them after him, dragging them into the living room and gesturing at the TV, where Liam (no, _King_ Liam, she reminds herself) stands, holding hands with Madeleine. She gives him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and Lily’s 99.9% sure it’s completely fake.

“I’m happy to announce that myself and Countess Madeleine will be taking the court with us on a royal engagement tour,” he says, smiling at the camera. He looks so… sad. Lily bites her lip, and wonders why part of her is happy that it’s _not_ her up there alongside him. Maybe she’s just not ready for news stations, for announcements on live television. She can’t imagine herself standing next to him, her arm wrapped around his… well, okay, maybe she _can_ , but she doesn’t really _want_ to.

  


* * *

  


After the announcement ends, Lily heads up to her room with the excuse of dropping off her underwear, and disappears into the bathroom with the pregnancy test.

A few minutes later, she slumps against the door and waits.

And waits.

One line. She just needs one line, and then she can consider this stress. Which it probably is.

And waits.

Just one line. And then she can blame this on something else. And then she won’t have to worry about who the hell the father is, and how the hell she’s pregnant. It’s just stress, she tells herself. Her period’s just late because she’s stressed out about Tariq, about clearing her name, about everything she’s going to have to deal with over the tour… _just one line_.

She waits.

Just one line and she won’t be on the verge of a panic attack like she is right now.

And then, she looks down to find a soft pink plus.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey, Bertrand, Maxwell, I’m pregnant!” she says, and then sighs. “And I have no idea how I got pregnant, who the dad is, and I’m pretty much fucked!”

Her reflection stares sadly back at her.

“You’re no help. Why can’t you be a fucking _talking_ mirror or something?”

Obviously, there’s no response. Lily collapses on her bed, still holding the pregnancy test she’d taken half an hour ago. The first one hadn’t seemed real, and the second… even less real, with another pink plus practically shouting at her.

She’d never actually thought _she’d_ be a mother. She never thought _she’d_ have a kid. And yet…

“There’s always getting an abortion,” she whispers to herself. “That’s probably the best choice. Nobody has to know. You don’t _ever_ have to think about it again.” But the idea feels… like it’s not right. Like… there’s a person growing inside her right now. _Her child_. Maybe… maybe that’s not a good idea. Maybe this isn’t a good idea at all. But right now, she’s all out of good ideas.

She’s having a baby. Or might be. Might not be.

What’s she _supposed_ to do?

After a few minutes, she gets up, faces her reflection. Mirror-Lily looks tired, dark circles under her eyes from too many nights of not sleeping well. Maybe it’s just the pregnancy.

_Pregnancy_.

The whole thing hits her, and it hits her hard. She’s actually pregnant. She’s actually having a baby. There’s an actual life growing inside of her. This isn’t a joke. This isn’t a dream. She’s actually, really, genuinely _pregnant_.

She wishes she could just go home right now, call her step mom. Her sister, Lauren, who’s off in San Francisco, probably having the time of her life. Someone, anyone, anything. She needs someone right now. She needs to tell _someone_.

She wishes Hana was here.

  


* * *

  


“Hey, Maxwell. This is gonna sound strange, but… what all did we do during the social season? I’m just… having a hard time recollecting.”

Maxwell looks up from his phone. He looks… just as tired as she feels, actually, with dark circles under his eyes. It’s one of the few times she’s actually seen him wear something casual (and not that button down black shirt of his), a hoodie pulled over his face, all scrunched up, his feet propped up on the coffee table. Bertrand would kill him if he saw him, she thinks, and the thought almost makes her laugh. “Why?”

“Oh, I thought I’d… write it all down. Maybe it’d be neat to, you know, keep a diary of sorts?”

“You don’t really seem like a diary person,” he says.

She sits down next to him. “Well, maybe I wanna start. Bertrand’s whole _training me to be a noblewoman_ thing inspired me. It just seems like a good idea, you know? To show to people someday. When they don’t believe that I started out as, y’know, a waitress. At a bar.”

“Okay, well, uh… we met you at the bar, then you fell for Liam, so I asked you to come to Cordonia so House Beaumont could sponsor you, then the social season happened, and then you got disqualified because of someone framing you?”

She frowns at him. “Like… more _detailed_ , Maxwell. Like, what did we do?”

“Okay, okay, uh… there was the masquerade, and the derby, and the tea party, and going to Olivia’s, and then the yacht competition, where the crew bailed on us… and the beach party… and everything at Applewood… and, of course, the Beaumont Bash. And the Coronation.”

“Hmmm. What about… stuff we all did, outside of the social season?”

“Wow, you have a really bad memory, don’t you?”

“Uh,” says Lily, “I’m just drawing a blank right now.”

“Well, we got cronuts. And then we went to the ruins. And we played Truth or Dare. Oh… and Drake’s birthday, we went out for that.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that.”

“Which part?”

“The… cronuts?”

Maxwell looks at her, mouth open. “How can you forget _cronuts_ , Lily?”

“I’m a fake New Yorker,” she says. “I’m not really from New York. I’m actually from… _Jersey_.”

“ _Noooo_.”

“Yup. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

Lily tries to mentally count backwards - she’s in her first trimester, she hasn’t started showing… _probably_ in her first month or maybe second… and it’s late March… then…

She would’ve gotten pregnant in January… right?

“So… January. What happened in January?”

“The Beaumont Bash, aka the best event of the season,” Maxwell says, awfully excitedly. “Also the Coronation.”

The Beaumont Bash.

Suddenly, something comes to her. She’d smashed a bottle of… something over her head, hadn’t she? And what’d Maxwell said? _I’m not going to remember, and neither is anyone else_. They’d been drunk. All of them, every single person there. So drunk she hadn’t even remembered smashing a bottle over her head. So drunk that they’d gone streaking through the ballroom during Truth or Dare, which’d sure been something. And if she counts right… it _seems_ to fit.

_Shit_ , she thinks. It could’ve been _any_ member of the Court. Hypothetically. The thought makes her feel sick… that she could’ve slept with anyone there… that, worse, she could’ve... 

She can’t think about that right now.

“That was a long night,” she says slowly. “Wasn’t there a horse?”

“Uh, I think so.”

“You don’t remember?”

“Nope.”

“Do you remember any of it?”

“Why does this matter?” he asks. He actually… looks kinda mad.

Her cheeks burn. “It doesn’t, I’m just… I wanna know, alright? I can’t really remember it. It’s a bit of a blur, all of it. A _lot_ happened over those few months! I just… I just want to remember what happened. It’s important to _me_!” And then she’s tearing up, and she swallows back a lump in her throat.

Maxwell leans forward, no longer looking mad, but… kind of concerned, actually, with his brow furrowed and his lips curved into a frown. “Hey, hey… are you okay?”

“I - I -”

“You can talk to me, Lily. Do you want me to talk to Bertrand or something? Or, uh, we could…”

She has to tell someone. She can’t just keep this hidden. They’ll find out sooner or later. Maybe it’s best if she just admits it now. Maybe it’s best if she tells Maxwell. He’s her best friend, after all.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurts, sinking further into the couch.

He freezes, and she can pinpoint the exact _second_ he realizes what she said. “You’re… _what_?”

“I’m _pregnant_ ,” she says, and then she’s crying, warm tears spilling down her cheeks and falling onto her lap, onto the couch. “And I... don’t know _how_ it happened. And you can’t tell Bertrand!”

“Oh my God. Do you… know… who?”

“No,” she sniffles. “But… I think I know when?”

“The Beaumont Bash,” he says quietly.

She nods. “Yeah, I… think that’s when it happened. I just…”

“Oh my God. Do… was it consensual?”

“I don’t know! That’s the problem!”

He swallows, and holds his arms out for her. She practically throws herself into him, her whole body shaking. He pats her back, and it’s a comforting feeling. After a few minutes, he says, “Let’s go outside. We need to talk. Privately.”

“Why?” she says, voice muffled against his chest. Maybe he knows. Maybe he knows what happened that night and he’s not saying something and… oh, God, what if he knows something horrible? What if something horrible happened that night?

“I’ll tell you in a second,” he says, and helps her up, and then leads her through the living room and outside. They walk through the garden, past an orchard of apple trees, through rows of beautiful yellow roses with red tips… just like the rest of Ramsford, it’s so very _fairytale_. Like she’s walked right into a Disney movie.

He sits down on the grass beneath one of the trees, pulling the hoodie over his head and dropping it into his lap and he’s wearing this stupid fucking tee shirt with some band name she doesn’t recognize (at least, that’s what she’s pretty sure it is), and pats the ground next to him. She shakily sits down next to him.

“You _can’t_ tell Bertrand about this.”

“Okay, you’re freaking me out.”

He takes a deep breath. “Savannah… Drake’s sister… she had a baby. And… Bertrand’s the dad.”

Lily actually gasps. “What? _How_? Who - who’d fuck _Bertrand_?”

“Ew. I didn’t need _that_ image in my head. It happened at one of House Beaumont’s parties. She got pregnant and she… left Cordonia. And I’ve… been sending her money to help out. So… no matter what happens…”

“You know how to deal with babies?”

“Uh, I wouldn’t say that. I was _going_ to say that I wasn’t going to tell Bertrand. Or that I can keep a secret. Something like that?”

She nods wearily. “Anything else I should know about you?”

“Nothing that’s important to…” He gestures at her stomach. “ _That_. Do… you want to talk? About it, I mean. The party.”

“I… I don’t know.”

“It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about that at all.”

“It’s _not_ that I don’t want to, it’s just… I want to talk about something else.”

“Okay… what do you want to talk about, then?”

“I… didn’t actually think that far ahead, actually,” she admits.

Maxwell smiles at her and starts sort of absently folding up his hoodie. “Okay… how about dancing? What do you think about waltzing?”

“Really? Dancing? Was there nothing else you could think of?”

“You got me. I don’t think of anything else.”

“Why don’t we talk about what the fuck you’re wearing?”

He blinks at her and then looks down at his shirt. “What’s wrong with this?”

“It makes you look like…” She pauses for a split second. “A guy in a boy band. Are you gonna join One Direction or somethin’?”

“I thought they split up?”

“Uh… _Second_ Direction?”

“How do I look like someone in a boy band?” he asks, sort of pouting at her.

“First off, your hair. It’s Chad hair. It’s I’m-in-a-boy-band hair. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but you’re also wearing like… _purple_ jeans? And that shirt’s kinda… stupid, no offense.”

“Okay, I really don’t like Pregnant Lily.”

She glares at him. “This is normal me!”

“You’ve never insulted my clothes before!”

“Because you always wear the same fucking shirt.”

“Wow, Pregnant Lily cusses a lot, too.”

She groans and leans back against the tree, plucking some grass out of the ground… and promptly dumping it on Maxwell. “That’s for saying I cuss a lot.”

“You do!” he says, and then yanks some grass right out of the dirt and dumps it on her head. “That’s for dumping grass on me.”

And then they’re both laughing, covered in grass, sitting under a tree in the crisp winter air on an island in the Mediterranean. It’s not New York, not in the slightest… but something about it feels right.

She feels like she’s home, right here, right where she is. Completely comfortable.

  


* * *

  


Hours later, they sit in the kitchen. Or, well, Maxwell sits in the kitchen. She stands in the kitchen, cooking herself some pasta. The ultimate comfort food, complete with the cheesiest sauce she can make. And also some chicken… and basil… and tomato… add in some onions, oregano, maybe some mushrooms if she can find some… well, she shouldn’t get _too_ ahead of herself. But it’ll be great.

“So who was at the party? That… could’ve gotten me pregnant, I mean,” she says.

“Alright… Drake. Liam. King - I mean, ex-King Constantine. Some other nobles who’s names I can’t remember. Also technically Bertrand, but I _really_ doubt…”

She shivers at the thought of sleeping with Bertrand… or, worse, of having Bertrand’s child growing inside of her. “Yeah, _that_ wouldn’t happen. Not in a million years. If Bertrand was the last person on Earth, I wouldn’t sleep with him. Never. Ever. Same goes for Constantine, that’s… disgusting, oh my God. As for… Drake and Liam…”

“Well, you _were_ in the running to be queen… did you and…?”

“Oh my GOD, Maxwell. I’m _not_ discussing my sex life with you.” She brings a wooden spoon to her lips and tastes the sauce, then licks her lips. “Oh my God, this is _perfect_.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, throwing up his hands in surrender. “But it’s not _impossible_ , right?”

“Drake did… he had a crush on me, so… I guess…”

“That’s a possibility.”

“But he’s not my type,” she admits, stirring in some chicken. “I mean, he’s attractive, but… not my type. So it’s probably not Drake. He’s a bit too loner type for me. Hell, Hana would be more likely than him, and I _don’t_ think she can get me pregnant.”

“Okay, so, not including Bertrand or Constantine, that leaves…” Maxwell counts off on his fingers. “Liam, Drake, and probably twenty something other nobles.”

“I don’t have sex with people I don’t know.”

“Okay, so that leaves Liam and possibly Drake and probably like five other nobles who you’ve spoken to at some point.”

“No, I mean like, I literally don’t have sex with people I don’t _know_. It just doesn’t happen.”

“Then… assuming it was... Liam or maaaybe Drake.” He pauses, and she can almost feel something lingering in the air. “Or… well...”

She immediately knows what he’s not saying.

_Oh_ , she thinks. She’s pretty sure her skin is literally burning. The idea that she could’ve fucked _him_ feels a lot stranger than the thought that it could’ve been Liam or Drake. “It’s probably Liam,” she says, trying to find something minorly optimistic about this. She focuses on the pasta instead of on him. “Right?”

“Right,” he says, not looking at her. “Yeah. I mean… yeah. Right. Which, you know, could be a good thing. Because if you’re pregnant with Liam’s baby… he might have to cancel the wedding to be with you. The royal family kinda frowns on bastards.”

She frowns. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean…”

What he hasn’t said still hangs in the air, and she doesn’t want to say anything that could make it real. That it could be him, a fact which is more likely than a stranger or Drake. Hell… it’s about as likely to be him as it is Liam. She has to admit that he’s not unattractive, and… she doesn’t sleep with people she barely knows. And over the past few months, she’s gotten rather attached to him (even if it is platonically.)

_No_.

“I’ll try to talk to Liam once we’re on the tour,” she says. “Maybe he’ll remember.”

She hopes it’s Liam’s.

She hopes he remembers.

“Now, let’s eat this _pasta_ ,” she says, ladeling pasta into two bowls. “Gianna would be proud.”

“Who’s Gianna?” Maxwell asks, eagerly taking a bowl from her.

Lily smiles. “My step mom. She’s a wonderful woman… and a _really_ great cook. She taught me and my sister, Lauren, how to cook.”

“Lauren… that’s your _older_ sister, right?”

“Yup,” says Lily. “And, ironically, Gianna’s daughter. My dad and Gianna dated in college, she got pregnant, he married my mom… then, when my mom died, he remarried Gianna. But let’s not talk about my family… this pasta’s waaaay more important.”

“I agree.” says Maxwell, taking a bite. Then he’s shoveling it into his mouth. “Ohhhhhhhh, wow. Thisish _good_.”

  


* * *

  


She doesn’t sleep that night. She _can’t_. Her head’s practically bursting with too many thoughts, with trying to remember. She wishes she could just down some wine and curl up in the bath with a good book, but she can’t do that. Well, she _can_ curl up in the bath with a good book… which, an hour and a half later, she finds herself doing.

She doesn’t sleep the next night, either. Or the night after that.

After lying there for hours, she gets up and makes her way through the house, careful about where she steps. She finds herself in the kitchen, makes herself a cup of decaf - no caffeine, she remembers that from when her step mom was pregnant, adds some sugar and milk, and sits out on the porch, looking up at the stars.

Half an hour passes before the front door opens, and out steps Maxwell.

She looks up, blinks at him.

“Oh, uh - couldn’t sleep?” he says, sounding somewhat... ashamed.

“No,” she admits.

“If you need anything, I’ll be inside,” he says, and turns to leave.

“Maxwell…” she says, getting to her feet.

He looks at her, and there’s this weird expression on his face, like he’s not sure what he’s thinking. And she doesn’t _want_ to recognize it, but she _does_. She does because she’s seen it before. Before…

Before he kissed her.

During the Beaumont Bash.

She stumbles backwards, dropping her mug on the patio. She’s surprised that it doesn’t shatter. Part of her wants it to, honestly.

Maxwell grabs her arm before she falls. “Lily? Are you -”

“I… _Maxwell_ … what aren’t you telling me?”

He stares blankly at her. “What?”

“I - I just -”

“What’s wrong?”

She feels nauseous. “You have a tattoo.”

And she can remember that, even though she doesn’t want to, even though she’s trying to block it out, because God, she’s not supposed to… but she can remember it, even though straining to not almost physically hurts. His eyes widen, and he’s still staring at her. He steps backwards, mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to find the right words. Then he covers his mouth. “Anyone could have a tattoo. That… doesn’t mean anything. Does it?”

“It’s a hippo,” she says, and laughs, albeit bitterly. “Isn't it?”

“I… yeah. Holy shit,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck almost absently. “Holy shit.”

Who cusses a lot now? she thinks.

It's a few minutes before he sits down, and she sits next to him after getting her mug off the floor.

“Okay, uh… let's… talk?” he says, looking embarrassed. “This - what do you want?”

“I don't know,” she says quietly, but she knows what he means. “I think I want to keep it.”

“Okay, um…” He looks nothing like Maxwell right now. His usual optimism is completely _gone_. He just looks tired and sort of sad. This isn’t Maxwell Beaumont, not in the slightest.

“Maxwell, you're still my best friend,” she says.

He looks at her. “Really?”

“C’mon, plenty of people hook up while drunk. And plenty of people hook up with their friends. That doesn't… mean anything.”

“But _we_ … slept together. House Beaumont is sponsoring you! That's…”

She blushes as a thought suddenly fills her mind: of him on top of her, kissing down her stomach, her hands in his hair… she shakes it out, trying to ignore the feeling of disgust in her stomach. It’s weird to think of Maxwell that way, like he’s a potential lover, potential partner. He's her best friend… the idea of being with him like _that_ feels wrong. “You're still my best friend. Nothing's gonna change that. Besides, neither of us can remember what happened!”

“You remembered my tattoo,” he points out.

“That's all I remember, though. And… barely,” she says, looking at her empty mug. “But that’s _it_ , Maxwell.”

“What if I remember something?”

She looks up at him. “Do you?”

“I…” He pales. “Don't… judge me, okay?”

“I won't!”

“I vaguely remember,” he admits. “I just… thought it was a… dream.”

“Why would I judge you for _that_?”

He blushes, still looking vaguely ashamed. “I don't know! Maybe you're really weird.”

“Maxwell, I couldn't care less.”

“I… just… holy shit, you're really pregnant. You're… pregnant. With… a… _our_ …”

“Yeah,” she says, biting her lip. “A baby's growing inside of me. That's freaky.”

“Wow,” he says. “ _Wow_. So… what's the plan?”

“With what?”

“Everything?”

“I guess… we clear my name? I... don't know about the rest. I'm… what do _you_ want?”

“I… you're my best friend, Lily. No matter what, I'm here for you. And the baby.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “You want…”

“A part in your child's life? Lily, are you kidding? Of course I do! Who else is going to teach them the Beaumont family ways? I have to teach them how to dance, it's in their blood! Plus… everyone needs a dad, right?”

“I'm… thanks, Maxwell. I love you.” She stops. “Platonically, I mean. Friendship. Yay friendship!”

“Can I hug you?” he asks, and she nods, opening her arms to accept him. “I love you too, Lily. No… romo?”

“That's a bit much.”

“Yeaaaah.”

“Shoulda quit while you were ahead.”

“Yeaaaah.”

  


* * *

  


The day before they leave for Madeleine’s estate, Lily finds Maxwell in his room, sitting on his bed, buried in a book on pregnancy. He hides it the second she enters, then grins when he sees it's her. “Oh, I thought you were Bertrand.”

“Last I checked, not in the slightest,” she says, grinning back at him. “What're you up to?”

“Research,” Maxwell says, holding up the book. “I wanna be useful.”

“You already are useful!”

“Sure, if you need a dance partner, but as a… dad?”

“Isn't parenting like dancing? You know, you work with a partner and sometimes you deal with it on your own?”

He looks at her with the weirdest face. “What?”

“I'm trying to be helpful. You know, analogies?”

His room’s about the same as hers, but definitely messier, with some clothes kicked under the bed. His bed’s not completely made, either, with a few blankets strewn across the end of the bed, and there’s a few books and a magazine or two piled up on his nightstand. There’s something kinda nice about it not being completely tidy, like she’s sure Bertrand’s is.

He pats the end of the bed, and she carefully sits down next to him. “How're you doing?”

“Nauseous. I really want Moose Tracks ice cream, not that that’s related to the nausea. Oh, and my breasts are getting sore, but that's not new. And I still really, really want cheesy fries. They sound so fucking good right now.”

He pulls a face, but quickly nods. “Uh, are you…” He glances down at the book. “...eating enough protein? Vegetables? Sleeping?”

“I'm fine,” she insists, although it’s sort of a lie because she hasn’t really been sleeping. “I promise.”

“If that changes…”

“I'll let you know.” She leans back slightly and stares up at the ceiling. “Quick question: how long will the tour be?”

“A few months, why?”

“I'm just wondering how long I can hide…” She gestures at her stomach. “This.”

“You're not showing yet, and, uh… you shouldn't for a while, so you'll just have to… switch to baggier clothes?”

“But after that… What’m I supposed to do? Go into hiding?”

“Well,” says Maxwell, eyes brightening, “that’s a possibility. You could always stay with…” He lowers his voice. “Savannah.”

“She’s in Paris, right? You… should take me to meet her. Maybe she’ll have some tips on mom-ing. Plus… her kid… they’ll be cousins.”

“Oh my God, you’re right,” says Maxwell, staring at her. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

The thought’s pretty disturbing, actually. But she doesn't say anything.

“Okay… what about Liam?”

“What do you mean?”

“How am I gonna tell him?”

“Well, you could just… tell him the truth.”

She laughs sharply. “That I fucked you and got pregnant? I dunno, that just seems like something you don't tell people. I mean, I could phrase it better… ‘hey, Liam, at the Beaumont Bash I slept with Maxwell because I was drunk and I got pregnant, but don't worry, I love you, and Maxwell and me are going to platonically raise a kid together.’”

“That's not _bad_ ,” Maxwell says. “It's the truth. Not like you're lying.”

“But… if he marries me and I have a kid with someone else…?”

Hypothetically, she _could_ lie. She could say she doesn't know who the father is. But… she wants Maxwell to be able to have a part in her child's life. _Their_ child's life. She could, but she shouldn't. And she won’t.

“No matter what you decide,” Maxwell says, as if he can tell what she's thinking, “It's your decision, okay?” He looks at her like he wants to say more, and she wants him to. She wants him to give her some idea what she's _supposed_ to do in this scenario. After all, she's never been pregnant before. He puts his hand on hers. “I'm with you.”

“Have I ever told you you're the best person on Earth?” she says.

“You're just saying that.”

“No I'm not. You're my best friend. You're… like… uh… a brother to me? Okay, maybe not a _brother_ but you know. You're the best. My _favourite_ human being. Also an excellent dancer?”

He grins at her and starts laughing. “You're my best friend, too.”

And in this moment, this brief and stolen moment, she's happier than she's been in a very long time. Maybe it's that she knows, no matter what, that he's with her. He's by her side. Her best friend, even if he also happens to be the father of her unborn child. But that doesn't mean anything. It's just that it feels _right_ , in a very strange way. Maybe it's for the best that it's him and not Drake or Liam or someone she doesn't know.

Right now, she can't regret it at all.

  


* * *

  


“If I have to look at one more fork, I'll kill myself,” she groans, slumping down on the stairs. “Who knew there were so many _kinds_?”

“Bertrand. He knows _all_ the forks,” says Maxwell, sitting down next to her. “But cheer up! Lessons are over for now! We'll be travelling to Madeleine’s estate in Fydelia tomorrow, and that's when things will really start happening.”

“Good. I want to know who's behind the blackmail note… and everything else. I really want to know…” She pauses, trying to put it into words. “...who set me up. When I get proof of who did this…” The anger wells up in her, and she clenches her fists.

“You're kind of scary when you're mad,” Maxwell says, giving her this look like he’s seeing her in a new light. It’s almost enough to make her laugh.

“I'm just… ready to get some answers,” she says, bowing her head.

He claps her on the shoulder. “Hey, we'll figure it all out. We're going to fight back, remember?” His hand lingers for a second, then he pulls away. “It'll be easier when we're on the engagement tour with all the major players at court and can see how people act around you.”

“Yeah…” She swallows, stifling tears. It's too late to cry. “I guess that's not all that's bothering me.”

He meets her eyes. “What else is on your mind?”

“Well… aside from... you know, I haven't heard from anyone outside of House Beaumont. I thought I would've heard from Hana by now… it kinda worries me. Have you talked to her at all?”

“I lost track of her during the chaos at the Coronation. I did hear she went back home, though.”

“I just thought she might keep in touch,” Lily admits.

“It's for the best, really,” says Bertrand from behind her, and she instinctively moves away from Maxwell. He comes down the stairs, crossing his arms. “You shouldn't be talking to anyone at Court.”

“But why?” she asks, a bit stunned.

“Lily, someone wanted you to fail,” he says, a bit exasperated.

“And you think… it might be one of them?”

“No, but you must be extremely careful. Anything you say, text, or do can be used against you. Conversations are recorded, texts are intercepted. If it's written or spoken over a phone line, we must assume that it'll eventually fall into the wrong hands. Ergo, we must keep any electronic communications to a minimum.”

She can feel her shoulders slump. “So I shouldn't talk to my friends?”

“Actually,” says Bertrand, “they'll probably be very helpful to us. But if you do talk to them, do it all in person. You'll get your chance tomorrow. I'd suggest you get some rest.”

He turns to head back upstairs. “We're getting up early tomorrow, and we have a long day ahead of us.”

  


* * *

  


Once again, she can't sleep.

She lays there in the dark, thinking about her baby, thinking about the tour, thinking about Liam… her stomach churns. And she can't sleep at all.

She twists and turns for hours before there's a quiet knocking on the door. She gets up and opens it, letting in Maxwell.

“What's wrong?” she asks.

“S’nothing,” he says. His voice slurs together. He's a bit drunk, she realises. “I just… didn't wanna be alone. S’okay?”

She stares at him, at what little she can see in the darkness. “Don't just stand there,” she says, and leads him to the bed. “Sleep.”

He nods slowly. “Thanks, Lily. You're the… you’re my… oh, y’unno.” And then he pulls the blankets over him.

She shakes her head, grabs her phone off the side table, and puts in ear buds.

The last thing she remembers is curling up a little bit too close to him. She dreams about home, about New York, and she wakes up feeling even more tired… and also with her arms wrapped around Maxwell. The clock reads 5:27 AM.

She jerks back, a bit shocked. Luckily it doesn't wake him up.

She quietly gets out of bed, grabs a change of clothes, and heads into the bathroom, turning on the shower. She strips and steps into the water, letting the heat and steam surround her. It's almost peaceful.

There's yet another knock. Then she hears Maxwell say through the door, “Are you hungry?”

“What?” she replies, then quickly adds, “yeah, I'm hungry!”

“Okay!”

She can hear him scurry off, and she settles into the water, letting it wash over her whole body. She could _almost_ fall asleep here. Almost. She practically has to force herself to stay awake - it’s 5 AM, they have a long day ahead of them. A long drive to Madeleine’s estate. She can sleep on the ride there if she has to.

The thought of finally facing Madeleine… of seeing Liam… makes her stomach turn and her chest hurt.

Or maybe that’s the baby growing inside of her.

She washes her hair, dries herself off, and changes into her usual casual outfit - slouchy brown-green-weird mud colored tee, a pair of sweats. At this point, she doesn’t give a shit if she looks horrible - it’s better than running around in her tank top, especially when she doesn’t feel that great.

There’s a tray of food on her bedside table - waffles with a little pat of butter and some syrup and a few apple slices, a glass of water, and something green in a bowl. She picks up the bowl and picks a tiny green bean out of it, frowning, then pops it in her mouth.

All of it tastes fine.

She quickly eats, then starts packing.

  


* * *

  


After hours of staring out at the countryside, at farms and apple trees and God knows what else, they finally pull to a stop. Lily, Bertrand, and Maxwell pile out of the limo and onto the grounds. Lily holds back a gasp, looking up at the estate.

“Wow… this is _something_ ,” she says, staring up at it. It’s beautiful - ivy covered brick, windows with flowers, a red roof, gardens overflowing with flowers, a dirt pathway lined with stone and hedges… and to top it all off, the place is huge.

Maxwell gestures vaguely at it. “Madeleine’s family home is considered one of the finest in Cordonia.”

“And,” says Bertrand, “lucky for us, she’s been gracious enough to grant us rooms in the main house… though I’m still not certain if we should take this as a good sign or not.”

The _main_ house? Holy shit, she thinks.

“You mean she might be keeping her friends close but her enemies closer?” asks Maxwell.

“Precisely.”

Lily grabs her suitcase, and Maxwell walks with her up to her room. The hallways are practically bristling with energy, even though there are only maids in sight - dusting, sweeping, putting finishing touches on the house. A few of them start whispering upon seeing her, and she can feel her face start to burn.

Finally, they reach her room… which is just as beautiful as she’d expected.

Blue walls with pretty fleur-de-lis-like designs, a glistening wood floor covered with a cream colored rug that’s probably larger than her bathroom back home, a bed with the fluffiest comforter she’s ever seen (not to _mention_ the pillows and the headboard and the footboard, which look like someone stuffed a bunch of fancy rich people pillows into a gold frame), and the ceiling… which is painted to look like a sky, with stars peeking through blue clouds. Even the lamps and the bedside tables are incredible, all white and gold.

“Holy shit,” she says, stunned. “This room probably costs as much as my tuition.”

“Well, this is lovely!” says Maxwell brightly. “I kind of expected her to put you in a broom closet or something.”

“For all we know, this is what passes for a broom closet around here,” she says, frowning.

“Good point!” says Maxwell. “I can’t wait to see what the rest of the house looks like.”

There’s footsteps behind them, and Lily glances over her shoulder to see Bertrand coming up. “If we can be certain of anything, it’s that Madeleine will be going to great lengths to present a show of strength tonight. Now, you should get dressed for a welcome party.”

She has flashbacks to the boutique at the palace, to trying on clothes with Hana in tow. It makes her miss Hana even more.

“Remember, this is your grand re-entrance to courtly society. The others in court don’t know you’re here, so it’ll be quite a surprise. It’s imperative that you look your finest.”

“Lemme guess,” she says, stifling a groan. “I’m on my own for that.”

Bertrand holds up a little pink dress. “Actually, Maxwell insisted that we do our part. If you would?”

She takes the dress and ducks into the closet, quickly changing. It’s a bit big on her, but nothing she can’t deal with. Plus, knowing her budget… she’ll be wearing it a lot, and she probably needs the extra room anyways.

She gives a slight spin. “How do I look?”

“Perfectly respectable. It’s dignified, it’s distinctive, plus… it’s designer,” says Bertrand, smiling.

“And it was on sale,” adds Maxwell.

Bertrand glares at him. “Maxwell!”

“What?”

“In any case,” says Bertrand, ignoring Maxwell, “if you can’t come up with something better, I think this will be quite sufficient.”

“I also had one of the local shops send over a dress if you want another option,” says Maxwell, holding up another dress. It’s dark blue with the prettiest, glittery embroidery on the straps and all over the base of the skirt. The only part that bothers her is the neckline, which swoops down a _bit_ too far… though she’s sure if Lauren was here that she’d joke it was showing off her greatest assets.

“Lemme try it on,” Lily says, and takes it from him, ducking into the close again. The fabric’s rather stiff, but she likes how it feels. She adds a pearl necklace - one of her favorites, which used to belong to her mom. Then she steps back out, doing another spin. She notices Bertrand’s gone, but doesn’t think anything of it - likely he doesn’t want to sit around waiting for her to get dressed. “If I’m going into a battlefield, I better have the best armor.”

“You look stunning. No one’s gonna want to mess with you,” Maxwell says, grinning at her. “Shall we head out? You look ready.”

“Believe me, I’m more than ready to clear my name.”

“We won’t rest until justice has been done!”

“Thank you, Maxwell.”

He offers her his arm. “My lady,” he says, voice bordering on laughter.

“M’lord,” she says, giggling slightly, taking it, and they head downstairs.

  


* * *

  


Moments later, the doors to the grand hall are thrown open, and they step inside. The room’s just as stunning as the rest of the manor - marble walls, rose gold ceiling, red velvety chairs, the prettiest chandeliers… but then she hears a gasp as all eyes turn to her. And then the whispers begin.

“It’s Lady Lily!”

That’s Penelope’s voice - she could pick her voice out of a crowded room anywhere.

“Mon dieu! I can’t believe she’d dare show her face here,” says Kiara, right next to Penelope.

On the other side of the doors, the press snaps pictures of her and Maxwell’s entrance. She can hear someone - Ana de Luca, probably, say “As fashionable as ever. She hasn’t missed a beat, even in social exile…”

“It’ll be interesting to see what Lady Lily intends to accomplish tonight,” says the man next to de Luca - Donnie Brine from CBC, she’s pretty sure. 

Lily’s hand tightens on Maxwell’s arm, and he smiles reassuringly at her. “You’re doing great.”

“Thanks, Maxwell,” she whispers. “I think my stomach disagrees.”

“Don’t worry. It’s just nerves. You’re doing _great_.”

Before they get far, a beautiful older woman walks up to them. She practically reeks of refinement, with a pearl necklace and waves of gray-gold hair, and a pretty green dress made out of lace. She’s holding a glass of wine in one hand. “Excuse me. You must be the infamous Lady Lily.”

“Uh - that’s right,” Lily says, blinking.

“How bold of _you_ to attend,” says the woman. “But it’d be a boring party without a little scandal, don’t you think? Welcome to Fydelia.”

The glint in her eyes reminds Lily of Madeleine. “Welcome? That must make you… Madeleine’s mother?”

“That’s right,” says the woman, taking a sip of her wine. “I suppose the family resemblance must’ve gave me away. And hopefully not my age!” And then she grins. “My name is Adelaide.”

Lily sweeps into a curtsy. “My Lady. It’s an honor to be here.”

“The press said you were an uncouth American who jilted King Liam, but now that I’ve met you, I’m not sure I believe them.” And then Lady Adelaide turns to Maxwell, her brow furrowing. “Now _you_. I believe everything they say about you.”

Maxwell doesn’t even look phased. “You’re looking lovely as ever, Lady Adelaide.”

“Lord Maxwell Beaumont, you have quite a bit of explaining to do!”

Lily hurriedly glances at Maxwell, but he doesn’t seem at all bothered.

And then, Lady Adelaide says, “How is it that I’m never invited to any of those Beaumont parties that I’ve heard so much about?”

“Must’ve been a terrible oversight on our part!”

“See to it that I’m on the guest list for the next one, if there are any more parties now that you’re more… settled.” The way she says it bothers Lily, but she can’t put a word to why. Lady Adelaide pulls back and looks at the two of them, a hand on each of their arms. “Don’t the two of you make a darling couple.”

Lily blinks at her. “Me and Maxwell, a darling couple? That’s… hilarious!”

“It is?” says Lady Adelaide, but she has this weird look on her face. That ‘cat ate the canary’ face. And Lily really doesn’t like that.

“Hilarious because… I’m so funny?” says Maxwell, looking at Lily.

“Yeah, something like that!”

“Now,” says Lady Adelaide, “you should go pay your respects to Madeleine. Don’t let me keep you any longer.” And then she takes another drink of her wine.

The two of them step away, and she leans into Maxwell. “I’m sorry. That was kinda funny, though, huh? Who’d ever think that _we’d_ be a couple.”

“Heh. Right,” says Maxwell. His eyes don’t meet hers. “Now… game faces. It’s time to talk to Madeleine.”

“Right,” she says, and she finds she can’t look at him either. It’s probably nothing… just the idea that they could be a couple. Especially when she’s _pregnant_. She really doesn’t want people getting the wrong idea - it’ll come out sooner or later, that she’s pregnant. And if people figure out that she’s pregnant with a Beaumont baby…

They cross the room and come up to Madeleine. She looks as lovely as ever, and smiles at them when they approach. “Oh, Lady Lily. I’m so pleased that your recent fall from grace didn’t keep you away. A lesser woman more well-versed in courtly politics might have gone into hiding. It’s so very _brave_ of you to be here.”

“Lady Madeleine, I just want to say…” She pauses, her hand slipping into Maxwell’s. “Congratulations on your engagement. You must be so happy.”

“Thank you, dear.” Madeleine doesn’t even look happy. “I’ve never been happier. With all of the royal commitments, it’s been a bit of a whirlwind. But you know how King Liam is. He makes me feel like I’m in a fairytale… I know we’ll be very content. Won’t we, darling?”

Lily practically jumps out of her own skin. Her heart’s beating so fast that she feels like she’s on the verge of a panic attack, but she knows that’s not it. And there’s Liam, standing there in a nice suit, his dark eyes meeting hers.


	3. Chapter 3

“Lily?” He says, shock dawning on his face. “Ahem I mean, _Lady_ Lily. I am surprised to see you. You look… well, as stunning as ever.”

“Liam! I - I’ve missed you,” she says, and she can feel tears welling up, threatening to spill out.

He frowns, brow furrowing. “I’ve… I’ve missed you too. We need to -”

Then Madeleine puts a hand on his arm. She has a smile on her lips that doesn’t meet the rest of her face. “We need to see to the rest of our guests, _sweetheart_.” She loops her arm in Liam’s and presses a kiss to his cheek, smirking a bit. “Being the royal couple of the hour has its obligations.”

“Ah, right,” says Liam, shoulders slumping.

“But…” Lily starts. Maxwell squeezes her hand, and she trails off. “It was wonderful to see you both.”

“Lady Lily. Lord Maxwell.” Liam nods at them both, then he and Madeleine walk off together.

Maxwell doesn’t let go of her hand. If anything, he practically holds it tighter. “We’ve got to be careful around Madeleine right now.”

“But… there’s so much that Liam and I need to talk about.” Her other hand subconsciously drifts near her stomach.

“I know,” he says. “But it’ll have to wait. Maybe you’ll get a chance to talk to him in private. Hey, I see Bertrand over by the tables - he must’ve found our seats.” He squeezes her hand again, as if trying to be reassuring, and they head towards Bertrand. But before they get there, Kiara and Penelope step in front of them.

“Lily!” Penelope grins, and throws her arms around Lily. “I’m so excited to see you!” She steps back and looks her up and down. “Oooh, I _love_ your dress! Is it new?”

“Ahem!” says Kiara, lips pursed like she’s been sucking on a particularly sour lemon. “Penelope, _what are you doing_? Even _if_ Lady Lily was someone we deigned to associate with, we’re on Madeleine’s side now, _remember_?”

“Oh. Right,” says Penelope, eyes drifting to the ground.

“You’re on Madeleine’s side? But… I thought… we were friends?” Lily says, swallowing.

“We are!” Penelope blurts.

“Friendship has nothing to do with it,” Kiara says. “Also, not to put too fine a point on it, but she’s made us her ladies-in-waiting.”

“It’s a huge, HUGE honor,” says Penelope, somewhat excitedly. “We’re basically her closest confidantes!”

Kiara’s eyes narrow. “But that also means that we’re beholden to be loyal to her.”

“I guess that means you’re not sitting in the back of the room with us, huh?” Lily mumbles.

“Hardly. Madeleine has placed us in a very high position of honour at her table,” Kiara replies.

“I… thank you for letting me know,” Lily says softly.

Penelope smiles at her. “It was the least we could do.”

“And we might even get in trouble for talking with you this long. Come on, Penelope.” Kiara takes Penelope by the arm and leads her back towards the head table, where Lady Adelaide sits with Madeleine and Liam.

Maxwell sighs. “It's their loss. We're more fun than Madeleine’s table. Come on, Bertrand has our seats.”

She nods and heads to sit down with Bertrand. They fill him in - though Lily notices he leaves out some of the conversation with Adelaide. After a few moments, Bertrand steeples his hands together. “It seems Madeleine has wasted no time in consolidating power. Unfortunately, she has us at a disadvantage. We don't have anything to offer potential allies.”

“It's okay!” Maxwell says, grinning at Lily. “We don't need anyone else. We've got each other!”

Bertrand looks between them and sighs. “God help us. House Beaumont is doomed.”

“Have a little faith,” she says. “We've just got to figure out how to clear my name. Now that we're at court, how's that going?”

Bertrand sighs again, but quiets as some servers bring the first course - an appetizer, of course: some kind of olive spread atop bread, what she's pretty sure is escargot, asparagus with yogurt drizzled over it. Once they leave, Bertrand clears his throat.

“I spoke briefly with some reporters. They haven't been able to reach Tariq for comment, and obviously you haven't given an official statement yet. According to Ms. de Luca, your best chance at clearing your name is to compel Tariq into making a statement with you, explaining the misunderstanding.”

“Easier said than done,” she grumbles, taking a bite of the bread with olive stuff.

“Where do you think Tariq stands?” he asks.

“I think he got set up like I did. He seemed to think I was in _his_ room, and that _I_ was somehow confessing my love for _him_.” She shakes her head, memories of that night clear in her head. If it hadn't been for Drake… she shudders at the thought.

Maxwell nods. “Yeah, I've known him a long time, and I don't think he's ever made the first move. For what it's worth… I think he really _was_ confused.”

“Which means we both got played,” she says, clenching her fists beneath the table.

“No matter how we might feel about him,” Bertrand says, “He _is_ the key to all of this. We must get him to make a statement. He's been absent since that night at Applewood. He didn't come to our home, and he wasn't at the Coronation.”

“Which means a lot… since he and Liam were friends,” Maxwell adds. “And I don't see him here tonight.”

“So he could be anywhere,” she says, picking at a piece of asparagus.

“Yes. It appears he's left court entirely,” Bertrand continues. “If he's being used as a pawn, it's likely that whoever set this up wanted him out of the way to avoid him coming forward with the truth. We must find him, the sooner the better.”

Lily’s eyes drift across the room and towards the head table. Kiara and Penelope are deep in conversation, and Madeleine feeds Liam a bit of lobster off her fork. It sends her stomach spinning, and suddenly she wants to vomit. “I think I just lost my appetite,” she mutters.

The second course comes quicker than expected, and she's staring at her own lobster. It's red, and fishy, and…

Not at _all_ appetizing. If anything, it makes her want to throw up even more. She almost retches, but gets to her feet and casually excuses herself for the bathroom.

Within minutes she's kneeling in front of the toilet.

I can't go back in there, she thinks, and heads up to her room. She collapses on her bed, curling up under the blankets.

Eventually there's a knock and she gets up, opening it to find Maxwell standing there with a bouquet of roses - at least a dozen.

“What's this?” she asks, gingerly taking the bundle from him.

“Special delivery! Housekeeping sent over a new centrepiece for your end table.”

She leans in to smell them. The smell greets her nose and it's sickly. She yanks her head back, nose twitching. She almost doesn't notice the note wrapped around one of the stems.

She unfolds it, Liam’s curvy handwriting meeting her. _I wouldn't blame you if you're furious with me, but please meet me so I can explain. I'll be on the balcony outside my room in twenty minutes._

“That's Liam’s handwriting,” Maxwell whispers.

“I have to go meet him,” she says.

“But… the hallway’s crowded with staff and nobles! Madeleine basically put you in the corner of the estate furthest from Liam. He must not know.” He looks at her apologetically. “I'm sorry, Lily.”

But she's eyeing her bedroom window, thinking. “There's more than one way out of here,” she says, starting to smile.

His eyes meet hers, and widen as it dawns on him. “No way! That's too dangerous. You could fall and seriously hurt yourself!”

“I can just imagine him waiting for me,” she says quietly, rubbing one arm. “...but you're right. I better not chance it. I'm sure me falling out of a window is exactly what Madeleine wants.”

He lets out a breath. “There'll be plenty of chances to talk to him.”

“Yeah,” she replies, nodding. She sits down on the bed and purses her lips. “You're right.”

“Just get some rest for now,” he says, patting her shoulder. “I'll see you in the morning. Bright and early!”

She knows what she should say: _of course_ , _good night_. But what comes tumbling out of her mouth isn't either of those. “Can… you stay a little longer?”

He swallows and then looks over at her. “Wh - why?”

“I… don't want to be alone.”

He nods and sits next to her. “I can't stay too long. Bertrand’s probably... waiting for me.” His voice is dry and strained.

“I'm just… worried,” she whispers, and finds herself leaning against him. “What if we can't find Tariq? What if…”

“We'll find him. I promise.”

“It's… did I ever tell you what happened that night?”

“Sort of.”

“He came into my room, while I was changing, and… there were a few seconds there where I thought… I thought he'd…”

Maxwell’s eyes widen, and she can feel him stiffen. “Oh my God. Why didn't you say anything?”

“He didn't hurt me! I was just _scared_. I was alone with a man I didn't know, who thought I was… into him. If Drake hadn't heard me scream…”

Maxwell's hand is on her shoulder, and it's like an unspoken ‘I'm here.’ “But he did. It's okay.”

“Someone played us both.”

“If it's any consolation… I don't think he would've…”

“But you never _know_ , Maxwell. You're a guy. You don't really have to worry about that. Not that it _doesn't_ happen, it's just…”

“I know. But it's alright. He didn't hurt you and…” He trails off, and she realises his hand isn't on her shoulder anymore. “I know we haven't discussed… you know… but do you think it was… consensual?”

She frowns. “I think so.”

He nods a few times. “You're one of my best friends.”

“And the fact that we had sex is weird but you can deal with it as long as it was consensual?”

He nods and pats her on the shoulder again. “Yep. Like you said, plenty of people have sex with their friends!”

She falls backwards, laying down on the bed. “Exactly.”

“I'm gonna go now,” he says, yawning. “I'll see you in the morning. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite. Not that I think they have bed bugs here.”

She shakes her head, already thinking about burying herself in the pillows. “Good night, Maxwell.”

“Good night, Lily.”

* * *

She wakes up to the sound of knocking. At first she thinks it's in her dream, where she's relaxing at a spa after a long day of working to better Cordonia… but nope. It's real. And very loud.

“Okay, okay, I'm coming! Y’don't need to break the door,” she grumbles, throwing the covers off. A bout of nausea hits her, but she steadies herself - no time for morning sickness when Maxwell’s probably going to grab her for breakfast or boutique time or whatever they have to do to get ready for the long day ahead of them. She yanks the door open, and then stumbles back, her jaw dropping. “ _Liam_?”

He's standing there, looking so sad that it bothers her beyond belief. She just wants to wrap her arms around him and melt into him, kissing him until he’s happy again. But that's not happening.

“I hope I'm not disturbing you,” he says. “But I shouldn't linger in the hall. It was… difficult to get down here unseen.”

“Of course. Come in,” she says, stepping back to let him in. He does, and she finds herself simply staring at him. She can't seem to tear her gaze away from him. Her stomach does a flip, butterflies bustling around in there - she hopes it's not more nausea.

But the silence is a bit much, and she steps towards him and presses her lips to his. His arms wrap around her, and she leans against him, her eyes closing. She pulls away, fighting back tears. “Wait a second… you're still engaged… aren't you?”

“That's correct. But Madeleine and I have an… understanding. She knows that I don't love her.”

“She… _does_?” Lily says, opening her mouth to say more and finding nothing to say.

“Yes.” Liam sighs. “And she simply… doesn't care.”

Lily’s heart sinks, and she’s not quite sure why. “Really?”

“You don't know her well, but she's uncompromisingly practical and as cunning as she is calculating.”

So, a Slytherin, she thinks, almost laughing.

“This… arrangement suits her, actually. But that's not why I'm here.”

“Then why?” she asks.

His expression softens, and he takes her hands in his, giving her this look like he can’t bear to possibly lose her. “I can't stay long, but I had to see you, talk to you… to tell you how much I've missed you.”

“I… I've missed you, too. I thought I'd never see you again.”

“I'd _never_ let that happen,” he says, eyes narrowing slightly.

She pauses, then swallows and says, “Are you going to ask me if it's true? If I'm having an affair with Tariq?”

“You and _Tariq_? I don't need to ask to know it was either fake or a set up.”

“If you know, then… why did you choose Madeleine?”

He looks at her like he doesn't want her to hear him. “Someone wanted to prevent you from becoming queen. Someone with considerable resources, access to the royal court, and the ruthlessness to put you in a compromising situation. And had I chosen you… from then on, you would be in danger. I wasn't going to let that happen.”

She nods, but doesn't speak.

“I'm sorry that it happened how it did, but in that moment… the only way I could think of to keep you safe was to make them think they'd won.”

“I understand,” she says. “You were doing what you thought was best.”

“Thank you for trusting me.” _If only you knew the half of it_. “I wish there'd been another way. In order for this to work, I had to let everyone think I believed the photos and had severed all ties with you. And believe me… that hurt more than you can imagine.”

“Of course I can, Liam. I went weeks without a clue. I thought you…”

He reaches out for her hand, but she hesitates - something in her won't let her take his hand. Even though she wants nothing more than to touch him.

“I… got engaged to Madeleine to buy us time. Her hope is that nothing changes and that we marry. But if we're able to figure out who's plotting against you… anything is possible. Until then, for your safety… we must appear as though we're no longer involved.”

“I understand,” she whispers. It’s what’s best for Cordonia, she knows this.

“Speaking of which… I took a big risk in coming here. I should go.”

“I guess I can't keep you.”

“I'm afraid not. Take care of yourself, Lily. Your safety is all I care about right now.”

And with that, he opens the door and slips out into the hallway… and she promptly throws up.

She cleans up, then leans against the door, thoughts racing. She's really got herself into a mess this time. How's she supposed to tell him she's pregnant? God forbid how's she supposed to tell him it's _Maxwell’s_?

And then another knock startles her. She jumps up and opens it, expecting to see Liam or Maxwell…

But instead, Hana stands before her, looking as radiant as ever.


End file.
